


Bodies

by Virulent_Madness



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body dysphoria?, M/M, NSFW-theme, Touch starvation?, no actual interfacing, touching "organs"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virulent_Madness/pseuds/Virulent_Madness
Summary: Bodies are a strange thing.





	Bodies

Prowl did not think about his body very often. To him, it was a vessel, a mostly efficient machine that housed his spark. A physical object and extension of himself that sometimes felt a little too small for all the words, plans, and emotions rolling around inside him. 

He usually did not stop to think about his body. It was and that was it. 

But every once in awhile, his body felt wrong. 

Shifting for what had to be the eighth time in ten minutes, Prowl grumbled to himself and tried to focus on the datapad work. An ache running along his spinal struts persisted. No matter how he sat, the mech just couldn't get comfortable. Ache was the wrong word to describe the feeling, because it didn't actually hurt. But he didn't know what else to call it. 

With a little wiggle to stave off another wave of wrongness creeping along his frame, the officer glared at his datapad and bent his helm over to study the words. 

That didn't last long as the door beeped on officer code at him and Jazz strolled in, carrying both their rations and a few smuggled ruststixs that he'd probably gotten off of Sideswipe. The bot grinned widely and held up the candy to show if off, “Hey, mah mech! Look what I got for yah!”

“Do I want to know where from?” Prowl took the offered cube and hummed in appreciation after taking a few sips. Hopping up so he sat on the clear part of the desk, Jazz chirupped a 'nope!' and winked his visor by flickering one side. The tactician huffed at the display and turned back to his datapads. 

“Anyways,” Jazz continued brightly, setting the goodies on the farthest corner and out of the way of everything else, “I'm off patrol an' was gonna head to the trainin' room, see if anyone's up for a spar. Will yah join meh later?”

A gentle nod as Prowl's winged flicked in a vexed manner, “As soon as I can manage to finish this mess.”

Perhaps is was the way he was sitting, or the stiffness of his frame. Perhaps it was some subtle body language clues he didn't know he was projecting. Either way, Jazz seemed to have picked up that the mech was uncomfortable and trying not to unconsciously shift in his seat like a youngling that couldn't sit still. 

Humming, Jazz put on a thoughtful face and plucked the datapad out of Prowl's servos, ignoring the insulted grumble that got him. Glancing over the subject matter, he handed it back and flipped through the rest of the forms and work in Prowl's 'To Do' stack. Placing them all back exactly as they had been, Jazz gave the other mech a considering look. “These don't look super important to me. Think they can wait awhile?”

Prowl thought it over. “None of them are immediate concerns.”

With that agreement made, Jazz hopped off his perch. He pushed Prowl's chair and the mech himself away from the desk until he had enough room to throw a leg over Prowl's lap and settle down with a swaying little shimmy. A quiet purr from an engine and the tactician arching just a little in his seat said exactly how he felt about that. Jazz grinned. Pushing Prowl back and touching as much as he could, he nuzzled under Prowl's jaw and nipped throat cabling. 

A low plaintive whimper answered him as Prowl arched again, more insistently brushing his body against the other. The spinal ache grew and spread. A dull itch joined it, coating his inside parts and making him squirm in his chair.

Quite used to wrangling stray limbs, Jazz pulled the other mech's arms down and around so they wrapped around his waist. Those in place, he proceeded to press as much of himself against Prowl as he could. While thighs held the tactician's pelvis in one spot, fingers traced armor plating and flirted under. Bumper pressing against Prowl's chest and his face set in the crook of his neck, Jazz bodily pinned the mech into the seat as his servos explored familiar territory. 

Prowl panted, bending into the touches and groaning at the weight of another person around him. When his body didn't feel quite right, like all the pieces didn't fit together as they should, his insides wanted out. His spine arched and bent in the need to snap. Armor and limbs stretched and found their limits but felt no better for it. 

At times like these, the weight of another pressing into him, keeping all that was him in the space where it belonged, was just about the only thing that settled the odd feelings that plagued his frame. 

Touch on the outside to remind him of the shape of himself. Touch on the inside to get rid of the aches. 

“Jazz.” Prowl whined, wrapping his arms tighter around the other's waist and flaring his armor enough for someone with clever digits to get underneath. And Jazz did indeed have very clever fingers. 

Pulling back to watch his lover's face, the visored mech snuck his servos between the larger overlapping plates on either side of Prowl's torso and searched around. Armor flared wider, giving him room to slip his entire servos in along with the lower parts of his forearms. Claws click-clacked over lines and cables, skittering along his fuel pump and dipping down to trace patterns on his t-cog. 

Prowl keened, one leg twitching in a way that would have thrown Jazz off if the special ops hadn't been seated so firmly. Arching as much as the chair would allow, the praxian opened wider and shivered in place. He couldn't move very much, not with Jazz's forearms inside his midsection. 

“That's it.” Jazz crooned, one servos sliding through the mess of fuel lines to scratch along shoulder struts and the knots of sensors that led to the doorwings. Prowl reflexivly spasmed, gasping at the mech not to stop. “Just like that love.”

Claws dug into his spinal struts, finally making his sensors feel something other than that persistent ache. They scraped down, no doubt leaving marks that would heal long before any medic had a reason to go poking around inside Prowl's body. Expertly riding the roll of the tactician's hips, Jazz raked his servos on every side of the mech's tank, digging them in deep just to hear the mech whimper. Prowl dropped his helm back to stare at the ceiling in hazy bliss. Condensation gathered on black and white armor. Shaking in little seismic quakes, Prowl's body seized in tight pinpoints of pleasure as nimble fingers wrapped around his spark chamber and explored every inch of protective crystal and metal. 

“Jazz!” He jerked, crying out softly as Jazz seemed to meld his body against the tactician's and pressed his digit's against the protective inner chamber. “More....oooooohh, more Jazz.”

Spark spinning and whirling madly at the stimuli, Prowl could do nothing more than feel all of the weight and pressure and touches over and in his body. The tips of claws very delicately scraped circles into his spark chamber, tiny scratches that would heal within hours. Jazz hummed in appreciation as Prowl held very still, save for the involuntary shivers wracking his frame. 

“You feelin' better sweetspark?”

A tea-kettle keen answered him. Prowl tried not to move as he looked down at Jazz's arms entering his body, open mouthed panting and optics unfocused. Licking his lips, the saboteur leaned in, pushing his arms farther into the other's body as much as he could and leaning up to press his face into the mech's throat. His visor gently nudged the underside of a jaw as warm exhales vented over sensitive cables.

Prowl let his helm drop back once more. Rumbling his engine, Jazz squeezed his thighs around the other's waist and nipped gently at the exposed throat cables. The nip quickly turned into a deeper bite as the mech found one of his favorite places to latch on and dug his sharpened denta in. 

“Ah,” With a sigh, Prowl flexed his hands on his lover's aft and purred at the servos wandering his insides. 

The touches turned from scrapes and scratching to gentle rubs that soothed the praxian. The shivering vanished, soon followed by the gentle rocking. Servos slowed as Prowl's frame finally relaxed and slumped into a melted pile of blissful tactician. Lost somewhere in content euphoria, it was some time before the mech came back to himself. 

Jazz felt the change, and released Prowl's throat with a quick lick at the indents on the cables. His arms were still partway in Prowl's chest, weaving through inner workings so servos could wrap around the warm spark chamber. They'd stayed there for the last several moments, just feeling the warmth and pulse. A smug visor peered up at Prowl. Jazz never got over wrecking his praxian like this. And he wasn't unaffected either. 

With a digit tracing over a hip, Prowl tilted his helm down to stare into the deep blue of Jazz's visor. “Do you want more?” he asked softly. Fingers dipped to rap against a warm panel between Jazz's legs. 

Sighing contently, Jazz slowly pulled his arms out of his lover's body and moved up to press a kiss onto Prowl's mouth before pulling back, “No. Watching you was enough.”

An amused huff at the compliment. Prowl smiled and wrapped his arms around Jazz, resettling them as the other mech leaned his helm on the praxian's shoulder and turned sideways to curl on his lap. Engines purred as they traded soft touches and traced patterns on each other's armor. 

Some days, Prowl's body felt wrong. And on those days, Jazz was there to draw him back into himself.


End file.
